The Beast
by TrueBlueBlood
Summary: Based on Beauty and the Beast. Draco is turned into a Monster as a punishment for his arrogance, ego and selfishness. Hermione is desperate for adventure and something more than a suburban English lifestyle.
1. Chapter 1

**So, um...hi? Hi! Anyway, enough with awkward introductions, this is my take on Beauty and the Beast done Harry Potter style. I've always loved the story (because, clearly, I'm six years old) and just the other day I got the idea to merge the two together! It's Dramionie because they make so much sence. Love Dramionie. ANYWAY, hope you like it, if you dont, that's cool too. So, go, read! **

**Ella, X**

**Btw, I am not JKR or Disney. I am just a higschooler procrastinating. No law problems, please. Yea? Yea!**

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><p>The dark, churning sky roared, seeming to culminate into a perpetual cauldron rain and thunder. Heavy bullet-like drops of water crashed down onto the world bellow, soaking everything in its path. Suddenly there was a flash of white hot light, as a lightning bolt raced across the sky. It was raining.<p>

Underneath the chaotic sky stood a castle, the only man-built sight for miles around. Towers stretched high above the ground, almost seeming to touch the tumultuous clouds, swirling above. Long glass windows shook as another rumble of thunder echoed across the surrounding woods. Wolves, deer, chipmunks, birds and anything else living in the forest, stood hidden in the shadows, attempting to shelter themselves from the storm. Only a cloaked, hunched over figure stood against the wind, silently making its way towards the castle gate. The figure tightened its thin cloak around itself, as it gingerly took one step at a time. The unforgiving rain continued its attack, the poor person almost missing its step. The figure pushed against the wind and the rain with all its might, but continued onward, determined to make it to the castle door. The castle gate flew open as the hooded figure approached. Another spark of lightning danced across the sky, illuminating the bridge between the gate and the enormous doors of the castle. Hauling itself forward, it finally reached the heavy doors. The figure reached out an old, wrinkly hand form under its cloak and knocked twice. The sound echoed throughout the castle. The hooded figure shivered as another gush of wind flew over the forest. The door opened.

A tall pale man stood at the door way, is sleek blond hair carefully arranged in place. His sharp features contorted into a look of disgust as he looked down upon the figure.

"What do you want?" his voice was sharp against the howling storm. He spoke with little patience, his hand taking hold of the door with force.

"Please" whispered the cloaked figure, "please, I need shelter. Please."

The young man made an unpleasant sound as he turned back on the old man, brining the door to a close behind him. But the door wouldn't close.

"Young man, please!" the man's voice quivered with fear, his foot preventing the door from slamming shut. "I –I can offer you a rose. A rose in exchange for a safe night."

"And why would I want one of your common roses, you filthy peasant?" The young man spat, smashed the door shut with all his might.

Suddenly there was a great explosion of light, and the large double doors flew open. The young man covered his eyes, while quickly searching his pockets for his wand. The light dimmed and the cloaked figure stood tall in front of the younger man. The figure lowered its hood, revealing and old face, with a beard so long it could be tucked into his belt. His clear blue eyes bore into the young man's grey ones.

The young man pulled out his wand, but in a second it flew out of his hand with a single _"Expelliarmus" _being muttered. The two men stood staring at each other, the younger sneering unpleasantly, attempting to hide his fear.

"You are selfish, unkind and without love," the old man pronounced every syllable carefully, making sure he could be heard over the storm outside. "Your heart is cold and empty. You have insulted me and disgraced yourself."

The young man stood his ground, refusing to lower his gaze.

"You think yourself better than the world, but you are no one. You think with your eyes, and for that you shall be punished. You will learn to love and see properly, or you will simply not."

The old man raised his wand over his head, his loud voice echoing throughout the cold empty castle. The sounds of spells filled the room, and the young man felt pain over every inch of his skin. The two voices of the men mixed, one screaming in agony and the other reciting one spell after another. The young man curled into a ball on the flood, holding himself, attempting to shield his body from the pain being caused by the spell. And then it ended.

"Take the rose," said the old man's voice. He stood over the younger man, and dropped the flower next to his face, "when all its petals are gone, you will stay like the monster you are forever… Unless you learn to love, and be loved." There was a loud _crack_ and the young man found himself alone once more, his face drenched in cold sweat, plastered to the floor.

The young man let go one more scream into the empty house. He heard it echo everywhere, alongside his beating heart. He slowly turned onto his back, breathing heavily. He pushed himself up to his feet, but soon felt his knees buckle underneath him. He painfully dragged himself across the entrance hall. He grabbed the leg of a table and hoisted himself up. The young man looked up into the mirror. His hands clenched into fists as anger began pounding through his veins. He stared at his face.

Once handsome, Draco Malfoy's face now seemed disfigured. Dark scares made their way across his sharp figures; disfigured skin draped itself across his neck, as if he had been burned. His hair was gone, being replaced by more scabs, scars and burn marks. His grey eyes were surrounded by dark circles and his lips were covered with small cuts. He lifted a fist to his face, and saw it covered with ugly calices, the soft skin turned rough and untouchable. He was a monster.


	2. Chapter 2

**Heh-Heh... Hi there. So I know it's close to a miracle that I've updated this thing but, well miracles happen. I guess. **

**That got strangely religious. **

**Anyway, out of the blue I received something like a punch of inspiration (namely reviewer numero tres) while I was walking down the street the other day. Once I got home from watching Brave, I started writing. To be clear, since it's summer, and I'm almost done with the theater workshops I'm doing (which are unbelievably time consuming and fun) I'll be committing more time to this thing here. I**** promise/hope. Because I genuinely like the idea of this fic (ha, because I came up with it myself) and want to keep going with it. Thus conscience does make (procrastinators) of us all. **

**This chapter is slightly less descrptive than the first, but that's because I want to make a very _ clear_ distinction between the '"Fairy Tale" world' versus 'The "Real" World'**

** So enjoy, review so I know if I should keep going and if so in what direction, ect.  
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**Lots of Love (seriously)**

**Ella, XX**

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><p>It was beautiful, she admitted. Everything was perfect. Bundles of peach garden roses, ballet-pink sweet peas and enkianthus' were placed on every surface of the church. The programs were tucked into lace envelopes and had been all scripted by hand. The golden light darted through the windows, changing colors in some places where the glass was stained. Everyone seemed to be perfectly dressed, cap-a-pie. The women's hats were perfectly placed and perfectly executed. The men's suits were perfectly pressed. Even the children were perfectly proper. Nothing had been this beautiful and clean since before the war. The wood at the altar seemed polished enough to reflect the intricate ceiling above. Somewhere in the church a harpist and a flutist hummed melodies into the atmosphere. The entire affair was spectacular.<p>

So she smiled.

The world had kept going, even after everything, the world had kept going.

She looked down to her dress, which now seemed simpler than she remembered when she had bought it. Her hands found themselves clapped in front of her, fingers unable to stay still. The stone pew where she sat cut into the back of her knee, but she didn't care. It was a structure probably centuries old, maybe not as old as Hogwarts, but it definitely held some history and she loved that. She loved the colorful stained glass depicting events and people from the Bible. She loved the roughly cut stone, smoothed over in only a few particular places over time. She was even fond of the gargoyles from the front of the church that her father had pointed out with enthusiasm, as if she was still a child. It was historic, and strong, and a little piece of the past. It was still standing, after wars had been won and empires defeated. This place made out of stone had outlasted many of her friends and would surely outlast everyone in the church.

Her hands reached up towards the deep sky-blue hat pinned at the top of her head. She had gone out with her mother only a few weeks back in search for a particular hat to match her dress. The only one she actually liked was a deep burgundy. She bought it anyway and charmed it a different color only a few hours before she was due at the church. She was quite happy with the outcome, her dress reminded her slightly of the one she wore to the Yule Ball, which seemed ages ago. Her fingers attempted to fix her still unruly hair which was pinned in a bun under the hat. A hand caught her wrist before she could really do anything.

"You look lovely darling," said a soft voice on her right. Hermione smiled at her mother and brought her hands back down to her sides. Her mother was fine. She still couldn't believe that. All three of them were fine, they had survived.

She took a deep breath.

It had been five years since she had found them in Australia and brought them home. Six years she had properly spent at Hogwarts. Seven years after the defeat of Voldemort. Eight Horcuruxes. Nine months searching for and destroying said Horcuruxes. Ten minutes from the hotel. Eleven books waiting to be read when she got home. Twelve stores Molly was planning to drag her and Ginny to in preparation for the wedding. Thirteen months without Ron.

She exhaled.

She didn't know how she was supposed to feel about Ron at the moment. It had been over a year since their relationship had collapsed, but it had been a relationship that had grown over the years. She couldn't really remember what it was like not to be attracted to Ron. Of course, most of that attraction also came laced with annoyance, but she had loved him. For little under half her life, Ron had held her heart. He made her laugh and made her feel safe. He was proud of her and always understood. But things changed, as things often do. Hermione believed that a person never stoped learning, and therefore, they should always strive to learn. That meant more books, and more late nights doing research papers. There were more trips to foreign lands in search for knowledge and more acquaintances with interesting people from all over the world with her same thirst. Ron, on the other hand, was ready to stop.

"I spent six years locked up in a school, and another year traveling all over the bloody place in search for Horcuruxes. I've done my part and now it's time for some vacation and some fun."

"What does that even mean, Ronald?" she could even remember scoffing good-naturedly and crossing her arms during that part.

"It means that I'm done. I want to stay here, and I want you to stay here with me. We can get married,-"

"Married?"

"- and live in a house near the Burrow and have loads of kids. We can even have a Quidditch pitch in the back yard!"

"Ron, I'm almost sure that illegal."

"Just picture it Hermione: you at home, the twins running around in the yard, another few kids in the living room and some at Hogwarts, and one on the way!" Hermione's eyes widened at the thought, "I'll be working at the ministry with Harry, doing what we do best. He and Ginny could come 'round on the weekends. And Mum could teach you to cook the way she does and knit –"

"Excuse me? Ron you know that's not what I want right now,." she had felt slightly hysterical at the images Ron had been putting in her head.

"Are you saying you don't want to marry me?"

"Was that even a proposal?"

Ron's face had flushed darker than she had seen in a very long time. His hand had gone into the pocket of his trousers where she saw it clench and unclench a few times.

"Fine. What is it that _you_ want?" he spat out, eyes fixed on the ground.

"I'm not saying that I don't want to marry you Ron, because I _have _thought about it," he snorted bitterly, "I have! But I'm not ready, and it's not because I don't love you and stop looking at me that way."

"What way?" he had said, tightening his jaw.

"Like I've just betrayed you! I love you Ron, but I can't do all that! I'm barely twenty three –"

"My parents got married right after Hogwarts and so did Fleur and –!"

"I'm not your parents Ron! I don't want to get married so young because that's the way I was brought up. Just like you were taught to do magic when you were a child, I was taught to take my time with big decisions."

"We've known each other for twelve years. Why don't you want to get married Hermione? Why not?"

"Because _I'm _not done."

"And you think that marrying me would be the end of your life?" he had snarled back.

"No, Ron, because I still want to grow! The way you're painting out our married life has me staying at home with baby vomit all over me, knitting sweaters and keeping your tea warm."

"What's so horrible about that? Well, I'll admit I'm not too in love with the baby vomit part, but you could just charm it away! Look, we can even plan something with my mum so she can teach you all the best housekeeping spells –"

"You're not listening, Ron. What's wrong with waiting just a few years? I want to keep doing this for a while, and not involve children or family members. I still want to continue working on my research and going on my expedition trips with Bill's old colleagues and –"

"Oh so that's it," Ron's expression turned stony, but his eyes seemed to grow redder by the second.

"What's it?" she searched his face for softness but found none.

"Sans, Kaleba, Ostree, Barns, Van Der Hide. I should have known. The way you constantly talk about them. It was right under my nose. That's why you don't want to stay at home, get married and have kids. You won't be able to go on your trips, Hermione; you won't be able to have your own _fun_"

Her hand had collided so forcefully with the side of his face it would hurt for the next few days. Her eyes filled with tears and her face reddened, but she kept her mouth shut. Ron shook his head and returned his hand into his pocket, clenching and unclenching. His blue eyes seemed different in that last moment he looked at her. He turned away, and suddenly she was transported back to the time when he left her and Harry during their search for Horcuruxes. But she was no longer seventeen and she wasn't going to scream after him. Not anymore. The last thing she saw him do was

The sound of creaking wood snapped her out of her memory. With a new flourish of music, a violin now joining the harp and the flute, the large oak doors at the end of the church brushed open. Pale Pink and Orange alternated between the bridesmaids, all with lace trim at the bottom of their dresses. Even the processional was perfect, Hermione laughed to herself. They were all good-looking each filling their clothes as if they were made for them. She smiled at the bridesmaids and groomsmen as they glided by, with dreamy smiles plastered on their faces. Two waddling little girls, again dressed in pink and orange with lace, scattered white rose petals on the floor. The ring bearer came after them. He was probably closer to the age of ten, and looked mortified at the fact that he had the entire church looking at him. He lowered his face as it turned bright red. Hermione smiled at him, hoping it looked encouraging, but he just hurried faster down the aisle.

Soon enough the music changed again, this time into the traditional wedding march. Hermione restrained a sigh. A wave of heads and hats turned towards the bride. The huge ivory dress, covered in lace, looked lovely with the brides black skin. Hermione smiled as she watched someone that used to mean everything to her walk down the aisle. She had been the closest thing to a sister Hermione had as a child. They used to know everything about each other. They'd spend hours in each other's company and constantly share books. They knew each other's secrets and dreams. Eva was even present the first time Hermione produced magic. Once Hermione went off to Hogwarts, things changed, as things more often that not, do. Weekly letters, turned into monthly letters, which turned into rare treats, which turned into unexpected, awkward and strained short messages. The invitation to the wedding seemed to be just an etiquette play, a forced pleasantry.

She wondered how many people she loved would turn into strangers before her time was done. Ron was already turning into one. It pained her to think that she couldn't quite remember the sound of Fred's laugh, because, as she recalled, it was different than George's. The fact that she had to look at old pictures in order to remember what her lost ones looked like only made her feel guilty and sick . It hurt to think about Eva and even about her own parents, who were all still there, but were no longer really hers.

She missed simplicity. She missed the times before the end of fourth year when everything was still relatively normal. She missed not knowing what death really was. She missed the childhood that in many ways was stolen from her. She had missed learning for learning's sake, nor for survival, which was the main reason she threw herself into her research so profusely and refused to let it go.

The beautiful, glowing Eva finished her journey up the aisle and met her future husband at the altar.

Hermione Granger noticed she hadn't given anyone a real smile in a very long time.


End file.
